After You've Gone
by TurtlebugBirdy
Summary: It's 1920, two years after the armistice to end the First World War was signed. A narrator laments on his post-war discussion with Tris as Marion Harris' After You've Gone croons in the background. Oneshot. I don't own anything.


**Hello - 'tis I :)**

**I'm so sorry for not updating _YWMNI_; my final exams have gotten the best of me (they're in a month), and I can't bring myself to spend a full day writing a chapter or two for it :/**

**As a result, this late-night ficlet/oneshot came about as a result of "complete-doneness" and listening to Marion Harris' _After You've Gone_ (hence the title of this). Enjoy!**

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It's 1920. A pale city turned into a blank canvas upon the arrival of delicate snowflakes. In it, small white-picket houses, each one quirky with an assortment of embellishments decorating each façade: a small chip in the wall there. _Mary loves Louis heart-heart_ etched into a sturdy and dense column of oak. Rocking chairs, wooden toys – heck, even a stale soda in a metal cup; this city has everything that could satisfy the curious, with each little detail telling a story made up in the imaginations of others.

This story is of a certain Beatrice Prior I know. Brought up as an archetypical role model in a modest society still healing, healing from the toils of war (unsurprisingly … I mean, the god damn thing ended some two years ago and we lost men – brave and young American soldiers ready to serve for the greater good and to defend our own national interests).

So I'm sitting next to her, soda and cigar in hand. And on this day, she turns on that cheap radio she has - her only keepsake– and out pipes Marion Harris. America's _it girl_; the one that all of the ladies are jealous of for her joyous and divine success within the entertainment industry; boy, was Tris (as we liked to call her) captivated by her. She swoons to the swelling brass in the background, her eyes shut tightly as if she was whisking herself into a daydream, losing herself to the music.

_Now won't you listen honey, while I say,__  
__How could you tell me that you're goin' away?__  
__Don't say that we must part,__  
__Don't break your baby's heart_

She paused, opening her eyes cautiously to unveil the world before they, too, well up with tears. I ask her what's wrong, tapping her lightly on the shoulder as she sniffles.

"It's nothing - absolutely nothing. Just me being selfish."

No - I insist - there's something wrong; I couldn't see her broken like that.

"Tobias," she whispered, her voice almost lost to the crooning of the radio. "He left me alone on that dreaded day in 1917 and didn't come back."

The war is like that one kid who breaks your toys and doesn't offer to fix them, I tell you – cliché, I know, but it's true.

_You know I've loved you for these many years,__  
__Loved you night and day, __  
__Oh! honey baby, can't you see my tears?__  
__Listen while I say_

The only thing that made it worse, she tells me, is that they never shipped him back to our fertile soil. The only thing she got was a stiff letter of condolences, something that sends artificial regards and a cause of death; no _tete-a-tete _from some soldier or field marshal who knew the guy. Absolutely nothing – just a cause of death proclaiming this guy succumbed to the toils of war.

Tris shows me the letter tucked neatly into the breast pocket of her coat. _Tobias Eaton died after excessive exposure to chlorine gas_, it reads. She stares silently into the bitter cold, not daring to make eye contact whilst I read the words that have caused her so much pain. The tears continue to trickle slowly down her cheeks, with no attempt made by her to wipe them away.

_After you've gone and left me cryin'__  
__After you've gone there's no denyin'__  
__You'll feel blue, you'll feel sad__  
__You'll miss the dearest pal you've ever had__  
_

He was truly her best friend, y'know – her rock in all things. He saved her life more times than she could have counted, and she had no way of repaying her debts to him or any ways to express her gratitude for his sacrifices.

We continue to sit without conversation between us, just Marion Harris singing sweetly and soulfully.

_There'll come a time, now don't forget it__  
__There'll come a time when you'll regret it__  
__Someday, when you grow lonely__  
__Your heart will break like mine and you'll want me only__  
__After you've gone, after you've gone away__  
_

"Marcus forced him to join the army, y'know," Tris finally breaks the silence after I hand her back the letter.

I knew that, I told her – Tobias had complained to me many-a-times about his father. I hated the man as much as everyone else in the council did.

"And yet I can't bring myself to blame this man for effectively taking his son's life no matter how much my heart wishes for me to do so."

_After you've gone and left me cryin'__  
__After you've gone there's no denyin'__  
__You're gonna feel blue, and you're gonna feel sad__  
__You're gonna feel bad__  
__And you'll miss, and you'll miss,__  
__And you'll miss the bestest pal you ever had_

She tells me of the last sweet kiss he gave to her, everlasting, and how he pressed a ring into her small and fragile hands.

_Marry me when I get back. Promise to love and cherish me until we die._

It burns her mind knowing that his final wish would never be fulfilled. She feels as though she's incapable of loving again, of loving another man less she loses him too.

_There'll come a time, now don't forget it__  
__There'll come a time when you'll regret it__  
__But baby, think what you're doin'__  
__I'm gonna haunt you so, I'm gonna taunt you so__  
__It's gonna drive you to ruin__  
__After you've gone, after you've gone away._

And as the song screeches to a halt, so do the sane mutterings of Beatrice Prior.

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**Let me know if you liked it or not; I hope you did :) **


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